The Keynote Speaker Experience Changed Me

One shaky hand clenched the microphone, the other gripped the podium, as I choked on the words to thank the organization. I glanced around the ballroom of three hundred people seated at circular tables finishing up their lunch and tentatively began, “I am the middle of three, and sadly I lost both my sisters,” with a black-and-white photo of the young Lipson sisters squashed together on a slide in our backyard flashed up on the screen, reflecting Judy, the typical middle sister. I gulped. 

The next slide flashed up on the screen of Jane and I recalled funny stories. Laughter ensued from the audience, and felt my body relax, shoulders no longer up to my ears. I stepped away from the podium onto the stage. Stories told about Margie. The eyes of the engaged audience, who nodded and smiled, provided me with encouragement and confidence. I continued to share Margie and Jane, sisters, my grief journey, and that it is never too late to grieve.

The thought of speaking in front of a crowd typically frightened my shy, private personality. A friend suggested I apply to become one of the four keynote speakers for the Bereaved Parents USA National Conference in 2023. I flew from Boston to Washington, DC, purchased a new dress, and diligently worked on a PowerPoint presentation. 

Having worn shoes for the first time in eight months following a broken foot, the emcee introduced me. I grasped the rail, walked up the stairs in high heels, and nervously pulled up my panty hose. Wobbling despite a brief practice in shoes, I steadied myself the few steps towards the podium and tried to breathe. A run through with the kind, tech volunteer appreciated because of my lack of technological skills reassured me the nuances of clicking from slide to slide. A glitch forced us to pivot with a nod to advance slides and amazed at the smoothness of execution.

Time flew by for the twenty-five-minute presentation. The talk ended with the song Seasons of Love from Rent and I saw many tears on strained faces. Astounded by the thunderous applause. Is this how an actress feels when taking a final bow? I exited the podium, swarmed by folks who told me how much the talk resonated with them, asked questions, and advice. 

My feels were deeper. A beaming light and validation of the impact of sibling loss I desperately wanted for decades after the losses of Margie and Jane but never received. With the broadest smile, heart bursting, yet a hole missing Margie and Jane with deep-rooted sadness. 

Alone in my grief for decades, kept in the dark, I came forward, shared and embraced by a community and done what I had hoped to do–help others. A moment I cannot describe, life changing on my grief journey and my development. I never dreamed of speaking in front of a crowd. A new skill discovered-speaking from the heart, giving back, passed down from my beloved father. I hope my beloved sisters Margie and Jane would be proud.